


The Principles Of Love

by DarchangelSkye



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Music RPF, Panic At The Disco, Panic! at the Disco, Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF
Genre: 10 Things, Age Difference, Cooking, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Makeup, Nicknames, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Vignettes, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Written in 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarchangelSkye/pseuds/DarchangelSkye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10 vignettes of a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Principles Of Love

**I. Cupid is a sneaky little bastard.**

Every time he saw that video, Ryan had to laugh. Not just because he knew Cupid wasn't really a physical being with fluffy white wings, but because the side effects of being struck were a heck of a lot more than love/lust. It was the feeling no one really talked about, not so much an emotional connection, but the presence of...okayness.

Ryan had experienced this first-hand. After ages of exchanging emails and IMs since the initial contact, Pete would be coming to Nevada for the first face-to-face meeting with the whole band. Of course the four friends knew no matter how the outcome things would be different from now on, but as they saying goes, they hadn't seen nothing yet.

When the day had finally arrived, Ryan was just in his room with a pen and pad and Spencer stuck his head around the doorframe. "Hey, he's downstairs. Let's get this show on the road."

And with those magic words, he had let out an enthusiastic whoop, grabbed his lucky guitar, and bounded down the stairs two by two, brimming with enough energy to light Vegas for a month. To say he'd been excited was an understatement. Overwhelmed was more like it, but that was only the beginning.

Pete had been seated and in a discussion with Brendon and Brent over something or other. To this day Ryan never learned exactly what, but that was a moot point when he and Spencer were completely downstairs and the older man raised his head to see them.

"Ryan! Hey." The smile never leaving his face, the sparkle never leaving his eyes, Pete stood and extended his hand for a friendly shake.

And as Ryan accepted the hand, he just knew everything was gonna be okay.

**II. Age really ain't nothing but a number.**

The thing about Ryan was, he was young.

Not dangerously young, of course, moral lines had to be drawn somewhere.

But he was at the age to be knowledgeable about some things and naive about other things, and Pete liked that.

Ryan was young enough and had been through enough to know life wasn't easy, but blissfully naive about how things could get better or worse from here by his own doing.

He was already a young warrior of words, churning out lyrics people could understand, appreciate, and hold as truths to be self-evident, but still needed a little more pushing to reach the full potential Pete could see inside.

Ryan knew life had its intricacies, but didn't know yet whether life was about the meaning of life, or something as simple as how spaghetti feels in your hand before you drop it into the pot.

He knew love was a challenge, a road of discoveries, and a mystery, but had yet to allow himself to fall completely into its dizzying spell- whether that was out of fear or calculated patience Pete couldn't tell. Either way it was intriguing.

Youth gave Ryan an ethereal beauty. Of course he'd be beautiful all his life, but now, from the way his hair flopped over one eye to the way he walked with grace, to how he moved onstage like a mini-hurricane, was nothing less than pure magic.

It would be narcissistic for Pete to admit Ryan reminded him of himself at that age, but there was a shred of truth. Once upon a time he'd been blissfully naive and waiting to tap his own full potential, but he didn't have the strongest guiding force- like young Ryan did now.

Things would be so different this time around.

**III. 'Baby' isn't the be-all end-all of pet names.**

Sunshine streamed down on Ryan's smiling face. He couldn't help but actually feel happy- lying on the cool grass in the yard and Pete lying beside him, massaging his stomach with one hand and scratching Hemmy's head with the other, was the kind of relaxation money couldn't buy.

The older man's finger traced a circle around Ryan's navel and he murmured, partly to himself, "Now what am I gonna call you?"

Ryan removed his sunglasses and sat up to stare. "What, my bellybutton?"

Pete sat up as well and laughed, gathering the sleepy dog in his arms. "No you goofball, I meant you."

Ryan laid the sunglasses in his lap and stroked the warmed vinyl under his fingers. He didn't quite know what to make of this. "What, Ryan's suddenly a yucky name?"

The older man smiled earnestly and nuzzled his cheek next to his friend's. As Ryan giggled at the stubble's tickle, Pete explained, "Aww, of course not. I just thought it'd be nice to have something a little...personal between us, y'know?"

A snort. "Like 'baby'?" _Please tell me he's not serious._

Hemmy stirred awake in Pete's arms, and he was set on the ground with a playful pat to his hind leg. "Gimme a break. 'Baby''s for pop tarts who change boyfriends more than socks and sappy couples with no grip on reality."

Ryan snickered in half-relief and ran a finger down the bridge of Pete's nose. "Oh, your grip on reality has always been shaky at best," he said light-heartedly.

Pete closed his eyes and seemed lost in one of those spells of thought not unusual for him. _He must be cooking up something good,_ the young man thought and dropped his gaze to Pete's caramel-tanned fingers. One nail was ragged, breaking the symmetry.

"Does anyone really call you George anymore?"

He looked back up at Pete's open eyes and shrugged. "No one important, I guess."

"Looks like I'm no one." Pete laced his fingers with the young man's and the genuine smile never left his face. Ryan looked at their fingers again and felt a warmth not just from the sunshine, as if Pete's happiness was flowing into him, corny as that sounded. A giggle surfaced.

"OK, what?"

"Oh...I just realized there's too many jokes I can make with Peter."

"Don't start, George." But it was said warmly, a tone not to be associated with stern authority, but friendship and familiarity.

And coming from Pete's lips, it was actually pretty cute.

"PeterPeterPeterPeter," he teased, and the two lay back down on the grass, hearts still light and fingers still entwined.

**IV. All it takes is a kiss to take your breath away.**

"George, I have to kiss you."

That had to be a desperate request, judging by the intense gaze directed at Ryan's lips. The young man didn't think much of it, kisses were a nice enough thing and he'd been told he had a good-looking mouth.

No big deal, let him do it and it would be done. He slung an arm around Pete's shoulders, closed his eyes and leaned in slightly.

Pete's lips weren't greedy or pushing to reach toward a goal of other gratification. One kiss was what he wanted, and that's what he got.

The selflessness was astounding more than anything else. _Oh my god..._ The smooth contact froze Ryan outside but liquefied him inside, his senses and composure melting away into little more than a puddle of emotion. No other kiss had made him feel this way ever. There was no way to explain it, not that his over-wired brain could at this moment. All Pete had to do was touch him, maybe slide his tongue in, or just moan, and the young man would be a complete and willing slave.

Well. Not in this case. With nary a word Pete drew his mouth away and let out a warm, deep, and satisfied breath. When Ryan was finally able to open his eyes again, he saw Pete's gaze not desperate anymore, but the picture of calm, cool, and collected.

If Ryan could've seen himself, he'd know he looked far from calm. He gulped, "How- how did you-"

"How'd I what?" Pete smirked, almost as if he knew exactly what he did.

Ryan let out a ragged breath to steady himself and keep from diving for Pete to cover him with kisses. There was a hidden power in those lips, not that he could say it aloud. "N-nothing."

The older man relaxed his body and tilted his head in that way no one could deny was so cute. "Thank you, boy."

_No, thank you._

**V. There's nothing wrong with wearing the pants, long as you take them off once in a while.**

At the risk of being very obvious, sex wasn't completely like love stories made it out to be. The adult books treated it like a religious experience- which made Ryan laugh and roll his eyes- while the characters in teen books felt pangs of regret over it- which frustrated Ryan and left him more than a little wary. Neither extreme he felt he could handle, by the time he was ready, he wanted to know he wouldn't be setting himself up for disappointment.

In reality, in the right mood and with the right person, sex was- pleasant.

The dimmed lights so he and Pete could see each other, that was pleasant. Gazing into each other's eyes as they laid on their sides, face-to-face, that was pleasant. Their arms and legs wrapped around each other, their lips leaving kisses everywhere they could touch, that was pleasant. Their soft moans and sighs with every stretched-out moment, that was pleasant. And Pete's body gently pressed against him, along with the slow and steady rhythm inside him, that was _definitely_ pleasant. The feeling was like sliding into a warm bath, wonderful heat spreading through Ryan's body. _I could get used to this,_ he thought randomly, then gave a sweet laugh and kissed Pete's cheek.

"What's funny?"

"I'm just happy," he said truthfully and ran his hands over his new lover's strong back.

After a few more minutes of gentle movements, Pete closed his eyes and Ryan could feel his body tense up. "George, I'm...I...ooooohh..."

Whatever he may have been trying to say couldn't come out in words, but his body spoke plenty. All it took was an instant for Ryan to tilt his head back and see lights dancing behind his own closed eyes. A soft and satisfied "Ahhh..." left his lips as he could feel himself gently floating.

Soon Pete's body relaxed again and the young men were a tangle of limbs and lightly sweat-soaked skin. Ryan sighed in contentment; this was what the love stories should be like, simple, pure, and pleasant. Lazily Pete opened his eyes and a sweet smile appeared on his lips. _So that's how he looks when he wakes up,_ Ryan thought.

The older man swept hair from their eyes in a sweet gesture. "You OK?"

_Better than OK,_ but he couldn't say it aloud. Better than OK wasn't even a tenth, a hundredth of what he really felt, but how could he describe it?

Or maybe that wasn't necessary. If they knew it, that was enough. "I'm good," he said softly, not taking his arms away from Pete's embrace.

**VI. Real men are not afraid to cook, especially the next morning.**

Years of living at home had spoiled Pete, but he still knew how to handle a stove- if he had to. Crouching so he was eye-level with the element, it was a slow exercise in turning the dial until a spit of blue flame appeared. "How you holdin' out?" he asked but craned his head anyway.

It was the cutest damn sight ever. Ryan in his slacks from last night, barefooted, hands in the mixing bowl, cookbook propped up because he'd insisted on _homemade_ pancakes- and flour everywhere. Ingredients seemed to run away from him.

"Unless you like your pancakes crunchy, you'll have to wait," Ryan said, picking eggshells from the blueberry-spotted batter. Pete snickered and fanned a hand over the element. He could never really warm up to the idea of cooking with an open flame, at least Ryan hadn't wanted to deep-fry homemade donuts...

"'If your batter seems below standard'," the young man read aloud primly, "'go over the instructions in Step Two'. Actually, Ms. Child, I skipped Step Two."

God, he loved it when Ryan made him laugh! Pete stood on tiptoe to retrieve the largest pan from the cupboard. This was gonna be messy, but you couldn't blame the kid for trying.

Scraping cooking oil from his fingers on the lip of the bowl, Ryan intoned, "Looks good, I guess." Pete would have to take the kid's word for it, because he had a hard time taking his eyes off the effect the flour coating gave. One part adorably awkward and one part spectral, it was oddly beautiful.

He went for the lesser of two evils on saying his interpretation aloud. "Uh, George, the powder's supposed to be in your nose, not on it."

Ryan's lips curled into a cute smirk. "And what are you gonna do about it?"

Grin widely and lean to kiss the flour off his nose, that's what he'd do.

**VII. Beauty bonding is the new safe sex.**

The young men were stripped to the waist, but admiring each other's physique was the last thing on their minds. Surrounding them on the floor were stacks of makeup- eyeliners in liquid and pencil form, colorful face sticks, tiny pots of lip gloss, even packets of glitter and costume jewels. Why let girls have all the fun of makeovers?

Pete brought his finger away from Ryan's impossibly pink lips, admired his handiwork, and held up a mirror. "Whaddya think?"

The younger man looked himself over. His eyelids were lined dramatically, and orange and black swept from the corners like wings. More black freckled his cheeks, and his lips were now tinted orange.

Yes, he looked like a tiger ready to strike its prey. While he smiled in appreciation of Pete's work, an odd thrill tickled in the pit of his stomach, as if a hidden potential had been brought to the surface. "Looks great." And it did.

The older man closed his eyes and leaned in. "Your turn, George. Surprise me."

Ryan looked from the makeup to Pete's handsome face to the makeup again. Inspiration had definitely struck.

Red, purple, silver. He frowned in concentration as he methodically dipped the ends of the colored sticks in glitter and stroked them across Pete's cheeks and brow. The little smile never left the older man's face, as if he could see just what was going on and loved every second of it.

With the pad of his thumb, Ryan swept silver goop over Pete's eyelids, and finished off with carefully applied rhinestones down his temple. He wiped the excess makeup on his jeans and sat back to look at the results.

Pete's face was still handsome but now unrecognizable, the face of a stranger. Check that, a gaudy, satanic stranger that's just wandered in from Halloween Town to stir up all kinds of trouble.

For one long moment, Ryan felt a thrill of fear. Then Pete grinned, and he was himself again, and Ryan wanted him badly. He reached with urgency to put his hands on the other man's shoulders, and Pete responded with gentle hands on young hips.

As their lips met, Ryan's thrill of hidden potential stirred inside him again, and he definitely wanted to explore it.

**VIII. A caring gesture can say as much as "I love you."**

He felt like he'd been driving for a week, and it'd be quite another while before they reached their destination. Pete's vision blurred randomly, making him slow down the car when he didn't want to. Headlights helped little, and the radio, for all its sports chatter, might as well have been silent.

In the passenger's seat, Ryan wordlessly fidgeted with his hands while his expression apparently feigned interest in the radio. No point in conversing with him, just keep driving.

"Peter?"

The older man turned his head, glaring as if to say _What?_

"Can you pull in there?" Ryan pointed up the road to a building that looked for all the world to Pete's tired eyes like another nondescript brownstone with a hazy neon sign. "I, uh, have to go."

Pete groaned and rolled his eyes. "Again?!" But he was in no mood to argue, and besides, denying Ryan anything was generally a bad idea.

He turned into the parking lot with an unceremonious jerk of the car and killed the engine. "Make it quick," he said, not a little curtly. Without a word, Ryan unbuckled and dashed into the building.

The older man shut his eyes and rested his head on the steering wheel. God, he could be such a bitch on trips like this! It was a miracle anyone, especially Ryan, bothered to put up with him.

Before he could examine _that_ little nugget of self-pity, however, the tiredness inside drifted him into a quiet slumber.  
*  
However long a time it was later, the light of an open door cut through Pete's darkness. He opened his eyes to see Ryan slide inside, a small box and a tray with two cups balanced on one hand. The strong smell of coffee hit Pete's nose and he sat up and stretched. Ryan passed over a cup, which warmed the older man's numb fingers. He didn't have a word to say yet.

Ryan set the box down and said casually, "I wasn't sure on what flavor, so I got a mixed box."

Pete gingerly opened the lid and yep, a dozen assorted donuts. He grabbed the most chocolaty-looking one on impulse and bit down, moaning at the taste. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff," he said with a full mouth, which made Ryan giggle. A swallow of coffee warmed him as much inside as it did outside, and damn if he actually didn't feel more awake. With one more swallow he asked, "You did this for me?"

Ryan only shrugged and sipped his coffee, but the response was positive just the same.

Pete smiled warmly and tucked a stray lock behind the young man's ear. "I didn't mean to snap at you George, I'm sorry," and he meant it.

"It's OK." Ryan shrugged again and tapped the gearshift. "You ready to get moving?"

"Damn straight." Pete revived the engine and set the car back on the highway. It wasn't that long a ways more, nothing he couldn't handle.

The young man reached for the radio dial and turned it randomly, which garnered him a surprised look.

"It wasn't that interesting," he said casually.

Sweet laughter rang as the car continued into the night.

**IX. There is strength in weakness.**

They hated crying. Even through some of the lower points of their lives, it took much willpower for Pete and Ryan not to show much emotion. Tears and other visible signs of distress were not for them. Those were the tools of weak, stupid heifers, Little Miss Meltdowns, people who could never learn to handle what life threw at them if all they knew was to break down and give up.

It was easier to reach for the nearest notebook and write the emotions away. No point in being weak; better to not let anyone know how you really felt and just put up a strong front and pretend everything was fine.

But there was more than one way to be strong. Neither Ryan or Pete could really explain it, all they knew was it was a gradual process, like all the worthy things in life.

A session of reading lyrics back and forth, and one would eventually ask what a certain turn of phrase meant, leading to a quiet retelling of something that happened last month or last year or even last decade.

A brief hug after a tiring day when one just knew the other was worn down.

A song on the radio that evoked some far-away memory.

The little things.

The two had separately admitted in interviews opening up about emotions was like pulling teeth. But deep down they both knew somewhere along the line that would change. Having it change with each other was maybe a pleasant bonus.

There was no need to deal alone when you didn't have to. Life wasn't a contest you had to win all by yourself. Nobody upstairs was keeping score of you macho you were, and taking away points whenever you opened up.

Fears of weakness were a thing to be banished from the picture altogether. Trusting someone enough to let down your emotional guard in front of them was true love, and maybe the greatest strength of all

By the time the first tear was allowed to freely fall, Ryan and Pete both knew they were done pretending.

**X. True love takes a chance.**

While the odd roadie roamed about the auditorium, checking on this light or that piece of equipment, Ryan sat alone on the stage, off to one side and still strumming slowly. Every note floated into the air and hung in sweet suspension, which was just how he liked it during practice.

The scraping of a stool pulling up beside him sounded, with a familiar "Hey, boy."

Without looking up from his chords, Ryan merely said, "Hi, Peter."

"Man, where'd everyone go?"

"Oh...they're around." He put a simple finish on the melody and turned his attention to Pete. If there was a sweeter sight than his smile, he'd yet to see it.

The older man reached to carefully trace the body of Ryan's guitar. "Was that a new tune?"

"Maybe." Maintaining a little mystery wasn't a bad thing.

"Whatever it was, it sounded great. I swear, you get better every time I see you play." Ryan shrugged modestly while Pete continued, "You play any better and I'll be the lone dude in the audience calling out 'Freebird!'"

The young man snorted. "I'm sure the others would have something to say about that."

"Yeah." Pete half-shrugged and for a moment seemed lost in thought. "Can you come with me for a minute, George? I wanna talk." Ryan must've looked fearful because the older man went on, "No, it's nothing bad, honest."

Still a little wary, Ryan laid his guitar back in its case and followed Pete.

An out-of-the way door in the auditorium led to a secluded spot outside the building. Unless anyone bothered to go down the cement stairs leading to it- which rarely happened- they wouldn't know it was there. Pete shut the door, leaned against it, and draped an arm around Ryan's shoulder.

The young man leaned in for warmth. It'd be a while before the bustle of the crowd but it was still getting dark. "So...what did you wanna talk about?" he asked.

Pete raked his fingers through his hair. Usually he smiled during an act like that but not this time. It had to be serious. "Y'know..." An awkward laugh. "Isn't that the way, for once I have something important to say and I'm tongue-tied."

_And blushing,_ Ryan thought. "Take your time," he said, assuming the role of the guiding light.

When it looked like Pete was able to talk again, he went on, "This is gonna sound weird, but...I really don't know what I'd be doing now if I hadn't met you."

Coyness twisted the young man's lips, and he twirled strands of Pete's hair around his finger. "Oh, I'm sure you'd be the Svengali for some other wonder band and their pretty poster boy would be draped in your arms."

"Nahh, I don't think so," Pete shook his head. "There's no other band like Panic and there certainly-" he playfully tapped Ryan's nose, "-is no one like you, poster boy or not."

Modesty kept the young man from melting at the compliment and he replied with a half-disbelieving, "Oh, thanks."

"I'm serious! You've really been good for me. Haven't you noticed I've been more relaxed lately?" Pete stretched his arms and settled his hands behind his head. "It's not old age mellowing me, I can tell you that."

Even as Ryan laughed at the joke, he admitted, "That doesn't _really_ sound weird." He linked his arms around the older man's waist and waited for the rest.

"Not as long as we know we've got each other's backs. Really, I don't have to worry anymore about who I can go to when I'm hurt, _admit_ when I'm hurt, or just have some fun-"

"Because I'm so cute?" Ryan teased.

Pete snickered and laid a hand on the back of Ryan's neck. "OK, that too. But seriously, with you around...I think I'm gonna be OK from now on."

If there was anything to suddenly catch Ryan off-guard, that was it. He wasn't going admit he felt a blush on his face, or that he felt the same way a long time ago. "Does this, uh, mean you like me a lot?"

"It means I love you," Pete replied, a lazy smile playing around his lips.

The young man felt a thrill of happiness from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet. "Right back atcha."

"Unh-uh, you have to say it. No jokes. Just put yourself right out there on the line, boy."

Pete stared him in the eye. Ryan stared back and he gulped hard. _It's now or never,_ he told himself, _take the plunge. He isn't going to hurt you- I hope. Anyhow, you have to take the risk._

"I love you too," he finally said. "I really, really love you."

And he meant it with all his heart.


End file.
